Growing up
by TMDOTDF
Summary: This is the story of how a small, abused boy came in the custody of the famous Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. There will be spankings, and it's my first story, so chances are that it's going to suck.
1. Chapter 1

It was one of the nights on which Watson had insisted on taking a walk. A dull, mind-numbing walk. He tried to distract himself from the monotonous task of placing one feet in front of the other by classifying the effects of the new compound he had gotten from Molly at St Bart. He had a special room in his mind palace for facts and data he could eventually use, but wasn't sure where to place.

Suddenly, they heard a loud crash on their right. Sherlock, excited by the change of scenery, rushed to see what it was about. It was not a stabbing, or even a domestical fight: only a small boy of about 10 who fell from the tree he was in. Scared of finding himself in the shadow of two strange men, he tried to run.

"He! Stop it there lad, you'll hurt yourself." Said the good doctor.

Sherlock, ever the analyst, tried to determine why a small boy would fall from a tree at eleven pm. Weird clothes, deer-caught-in-the-light eyes, thin, pale, malnourished, most certainly. An orphan? No, of course not, we're not in a Dickens novel (not that Sherlock would actually know the reference). Orphans don't beg in the streets for a mouthful of bread anymore.

"Did you run away?" Sherlock interrupted John's fussing.

"What? N-no I didn't."

"Well then" Sherlock paused, crouching near the boy and looking intensely in his eyes. "Why do you look like you did?"

"Shut up Sherlock, you're scaring him… what's your name boy?"

"Matthew."

"Clark. Matthew Clark."

"mm, clever. Very clever. Statistically, one of Brittain's most common n..." John silenced his flatmate with a dark glare.

"It looks like you've sprained your ankle, Matt. Don't worry, I'm a doctor, ok? Do you want to come with us for a warm cup of tea? I can get your ankle in a better shape, and then we can find your parents, okay?"

He did not want to come. However, he figured he could appear obedient and them outsmart them to get away later.

"Yes," he answer timidly.

Little did he know he would not leave their flat for a long time, dramatics apart.


	2. Chapter 2

I've got 2 reviews! Wooh! :) Here's the next chapter. I'm trying to make longer ones, but then I get tired, and I want to post it... so there it is. Sorry it phrases don't make sense sometimes, English's not my native language.

So far, the young boy was compliant enough. They had just reached their apartment, and he still hadn't said a word. He just let himself be carried by John, the doctor having forbidden him to put pressure on his foot. He sat him on the sofa.

-Put your foot on the table, I'll get some ice. Said John going to the fridge.

-Or maybe you'd like some frozen toes… no, no. I'm just kidding. Don't look at me that way. It's just a joke. See, real ice!

"He is joking, but if you want to see some, I'm dead serious."

"He probably is, too." Said the boy with a little smile while John tended to his ankle.

"No, I just reiterated that he's kidding." Said Sherlock slowly, with heavy hand gestures to emphasise the fact that he DID just say that.

"No… I meant… the guy... frozen. He's probably dead, too. No dead, like, serious, but like, dead."

"Oh. Yes. Yes that he is. I think anyway. I didn't harvest THOSE fingers myself. Legwork, you know." Sherlock would never admit it, but he was enjoying the little one's twisted attempt at humour. "Do you often joke with strange people who bring you into their home?"

"What else can I do?"

That simple question caught his attention. Looking closely, the boy was strangely calm. He had not moved, but his stance was not relaxed. He was a bit tense, and looking very closely at the two adults. He looked ready to flee.

"Run, maybe? Don't worry, we're not kidnappers. We catch kidnappers. And bad people in general. I'm a consulting detective."

The boy was confused. He had no idea what a "consulting detective" was. Isn't it like a normal detective? What's the difference? And how do they catch bad people? Isn't that the police's work? How can you catch bad people while inspecting? It doesn't look like a very hard job.

"A detective? Like, you look at things with a glass thingy? To make things big?"

"No. I'm a consulting detective. Not a character from a bloody cartoon."

"But that's what detective do."

"No, it's not."

"Yes. It is."

John was watching the scene from the kitchen, his arms crossed. He was not sure whether he should laugh, intervene, or get his camera. Sherlock was just plain arguing with a 10 years old. He decided making tea would probably be the wisest move.

"No. It's NOT! I deduce things. From tiny clues, I resolve murders, I find missing treasures and I solve problems that no other can solve."

Apparently, it was not just the water that boiled this evening.

"Pfff. I could be a detective, too. It's not even hard. It's just detecting things."

"There you go, both of you. I hope you like tea, Matt. I put a little sugar in it."

"Oh, could you now! And yes, that could work at the Yard. They let id… They let everyone in." John was getting fed up of Sherlock not watching his language in front of the kid. What if he repeats these words to his parents? "Matthew Smith! Where'd you hear this horrible word!" – "Oh, at the consulting detective's home!" That'd be just great.

Suddenly, the child dropped his cup of tea on the floor, shattering the china. Recovering from the shock, they realized that the child had made a run for the door.

"Hey!"

"Good riddance." Sherlock started drinking his tea. That kid was entertaining, but he didn't seem interesting enough for him to waste his time on.

"Sherlock! Get that kid back. We're not letting a child run on a sprained ankle in the middle of the night."

"But it's not even… ah. Fine."

Sherlock put his coat on, and went after the child.


End file.
